Hypnagogia
by Orphia
Summary: Just a little try at a Sherlock fanfic, set slightly over 17 years after "His Last Vow". Involves: a surprise exit, a sudden entrance, how to annoy the CIA and some familiar faces,as well as some new ones. Sorry for any sloppy writing, I'm a little out of practise, so all feedback is appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

1

"It's this or Aunty Harry." the girl said with the air of one revealing a trump card that had been carefully stored for this moment.

"You know that's not fair" said a strained voice full of conflicting harmonics, a voice that could only belong to an anxious father

"Remember last time? You were so cross… I thought it was quite funny." She replied playfully, wearing a smirk that knew the argument was won long ago.

"If you're going to be ridiculous then this conversation is over" grated the anxious father, in tones that indicated a final attempt to grasp control over the conversation

"Now Dad, you know Janine thought it was hilarious too" she crowed exuberantly

"Janine would." grumbled "Dad" in defeat

"You should just let her go darling!" yelled a female voice from upstairs, "We don't have time for this now, stop being silly."

"I'm not the one being silly dear!"

The girl rolled her eyes and arched her eyebrows in a too familiar manner

"Alright! I give in! I'm outflanked, I admit defeat gracefully."

"Thanks Dad!" said the girl, affectionately, kissing him gently on the cheek, "Good thing I already texted him then." she called, running off before he could rebuke her. Not that he could bring himself to do so anyway, he never could.

The voice from upstairs had drifted down, bringing its owner and the scent of Au Clair de la Lune with it. She caressed his cheek lovingly. "You worry too much John, you know he wouldn't let anything happen"

"She's too cocky, besides he doesn't have the capacity to say no, not to her…" he glanced hopelessly after his daughter "Are you sure we have to go?"

"Oh she's got the two of you wrapped around her little finger." smiled his wife

"Just like her mother then… I know we agreed to this," John sighed, though more in acceptance of the inevitable than any real annoyance "he better keep her safe, that's all."

"He knows. And if she isn't, it's not you he has to worry about" she replied with just a hint of danger in her words

"She's tough" replied her husband, a sudden role reversal in the discussion "Alex Watson is perfectly capable of looking after herself" he reassured her, adding ruefully. "A little too capable at times I admit, but she knows what she's doing."


	2. Chapter 2

2

"Mrs Hudson!" yelled Sherlock in annoyance "Where have you put my skull!"

"Well," she replied, with a patience that amazed many "Mary phoned me and said Alex was coming to stay for a little bit, so I decided to tidy things up a little bit. A little dusting, removing some of the more obvious jars of whatever those things were, that kind of thing."

"Tidying!" shouted Sherlock, waltzing around the room in his characteristically chaotic manner "God help me woman, you'll send me to an early grave!"

"Too late for that. You already have one. A very nice black one too." she smiled affectionately at the man she regarded with an almost maternal affection. "No use arguing, Mycroft said-"

"-You leave my brother out of this Mrs Hudson." Sherlock interrupted testily "I'll deal with him later."

"Well I've made the bed and bought some supplies. It's all ready for her."

"I though you weren't my housekeeper?"

"Maybe not, but without me that girl would be sleeping on the floor"

"That was her choice. I offered her the lilo and the sofa" he gesticulated, in exasperation.

"Well I did my best" sighed Mrs Hudson, as she surveyed the flat around her. Mounds of books and papers covered practically every clear surface, those being the ones not covered in a sprawl of chemistry equipment, assorted items of clothing and what appeared to be a human ear in a jar. An antelope head wearing retro headphones graced one wall, and seemed to be eyeing the room with equal disapproval. The other walls were peppered with bullet holes and seemingly random photos and newspaper articles were pinned in a surprisingly haphazard fashion about the room. The kitchen was just about recognisable as such, under the layer of, of, well of whatever that stuff was. "I'll be downstairs if you need me." She said, heading for the door.

"I'm well aware Mrs Hudson" replied Sherlock, closing the door firmly behind her. He strode purposely across the room and grabbed his violin. With his bow in hand he paced in time to the strains of Bach flowing from the instrument under his well-practised fingers. With a distant look familiar to any who knew him, he considered the machinations of his latest case. He was aware this was just an attempt to distract himself from his current predicament but continued nonetheless. Mycroft wasn't the only one capable of deluding himself. Sherlock paused abruptly and checked his phone. She was 3 minutes away. Apparently she wasn't being watched by anyone unusual, just the 3-4 members of his homeless network and a couple of Mycroft's little puppets that kept a constant surveillance on Miss Watson whenever she was in the capital. Or any other capital for that matter. Not that John needed to know about that, he thought Sherlock was too over-protective already.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Alex Watson strode confidently out of Baker Street Station, carrying her bag over one shoulder as she surveyed the bustling crowd around her swarming like flies on a carcass (admittedly a rather macabre image, but hey, her train had been delayed and some drunks had tried to hit on her, she had a right to be a tad tetchy). So many people! She examined each one closely, noticing every detail with a precision born of practise. A recently divorced e-rugby player strode past, her new high heels clicking with impatience. She was heading to a job interview if Alex was any judge. She continued to scan the street as she moved through the crowd of expressionless faces, devoid of emotion as they ignored the too familiar beauties of the city in favour of monotony. Sometimes she could see Mycroft's point. Speaking of Mycroft… Ah, there they were. Mycroft's people, looking as conspicuous as a lifetime study of inconspicuousness makes them. It looked like there was a new one of his pet goldfish swimming in her current now. She would have to get acquainted. A shabby figure leaning against some scaffolding sent a quick text as she passed. He knew she was coming then, very good. Passing a woman sat on the floor with a cup in front of her, Alex dropped some coins, and a note. Might as well start her enquiries now, Sherlock wasn't the only one with connections on the street…

From the point of view of one of "Mycroft's goldfish" babysitting Alex Watson wasn't too bad a gig. It was certainly a test of surveillance skills and was regarded as a bit of a badge of honour around both MI5 and MI6; there was even a small tournament with the CIA that had caused some bruised egos on both sides. Her appearance wasn't too striking: below average height, mid-length curly golden brown hair and her mother's green eyes. The most striking thing about her was the sense of purpose in her movements and absolute confidence she projected. When she was really sparking, the light in her face and intelligent teasing in her eyes would make her surprisingly beautiful, considering her features were fairly average. In theory a 17 year old girl shouldn't be too much of a challenge to shadow, a mistake the CIA had found costly. It was a bit of a game. They would follow her, she would follow them. One seasoned agent had nearly had a heart attack when, as they waited for Alex to come out of a coffee shop, she tapped him on the shoulder and asked him, fairly politely given the circumstances, to tell Mycroft not to pry. It was rumoured she gave performance critiques to the oldest Holmes brother, a fact seemingly confirmed by the promotion or demotion of some members of the team. In truth, she was a bit of a mascot and new recruits were often placed on her watch if they seemed a little too arrogant. It gave their superiors a laugh and taught them humility. Or just not to underestimate girls, Alex didn't like misogynists. Not one bit.

As she made her way to the by now famous or infamous address (depends on your point of view really), she could hear what she was fairly certain was Brahms coming from the upstairs window. Made a change from the plinkety-plonk stuff he normally played on a case. Business at Speedy's café was obviously booming. Maybe one day she'd actually try it. Couldn't be worse than some of Sherlock's more creative attempts at cooking. The concept of flavour wasn't one he had fully grasped, along with a couple of food hygiene issues. For politeness's sake, the doorbell for 221B was held for the characteristic 2.8 seconds. Satisfied, after about 30 seconds wait, that the speaker at the other end was in the fridge or similarly out of reach, Alex pressed the button for Mrs Hudson, who opened the door promptly with a smile. "Hi Mrs Hudson. I think you're expecting me?" said Alex warmly, a little saddened by the aging of "Nanny", as she was affectionately nicknamed. She was getting older, but was still pretty hale given the circumstances. Sherlock Holme's landlady/carer was hardly a restful occupation.

"Of course my dear! Come right in. You'll have to excuse the mess, I do my best"

Stepping into the hallway, which was surprisingly nondescript considering the number of decidedly colourful events that had occurred within, Alex patted the wall affectionately, as one would an old friend. "Same old Baker Street then" reaching into her bag she took out a box "A small present, to make up for the inconvenience"

"Not at all" Mrs Hudson fussed "Can I get you anything?"

The violin music that had swelled in the background suddenly stopped, leaving a gaping silence in its wake. A very loud, pointed silence. Silence with teeth.

"I think that's my cue" replied Alex, "I'd better go. How is he?"

"Not too bad."

"He has a case at least"

"How could you tell?" asked Mrs Hudson quizzically

"That's some of his thinking music. Thanks for everything." She said, as she climbed up the stairs, taking them two at a time as she did as a child. Although she might not appreciate it, she still is a child. Not for too much longer, but still a child.


End file.
